


Punching Bag.

by WinterTheWriter



Series: Building Happily Ever After [12]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anger, Angst, Gen, Protective!Nat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 02:02:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8825935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterTheWriter/pseuds/WinterTheWriter
Summary: Natasha takes out her anger at the gym after the team's confrontation with the Doctor.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Yay, update! You know the drill by now, folks. Have some Natasha love. This takes place directly after Koschei and the Doctor leave to talk. 
> 
> As always, comment/kudos if you like what you read!

Offense. Defense. Upper-cut-jab-cross. Left hook. Right hook. Jab, jab, cross. 

Natasha grunts with each punch, the sand-bag jerking and swaying from the impact. Not nearly as satisfying as an actual fight (or even a sparring match), but it does the job. She doesn’t know how long she’s been here; the minutes all blur together once she really gets going, loses herself in the sharp rhythm of her combos and the muted sting from the impact. She didn’t bother wrapping her knuckles this time. They barely hurt anymore. Honestly, she doesn’t care if that’s from nerve damage rather than sheer strength and endurance. 

But fuck, is she /angry/. 

The dangerous angry, too. The angry that makes Clint step back from her with his hands up, a knowing smile on his lips. The angry that once, on a particularly memorable occasion, had even the Hulk steering clear of her during a fight. It tints her vision red and fuzzes her mind and sends her, well. Sends her punching, makes her take her aggression out on this stupid punching bag instead of the man she really wants to knock senseless. 

That /fucking Doctor./ Who the /hell/ did he think he was? Breaking into /their/ tower, acting all high and mighty and pompous, all the while spitting cruelty and judgement. He thinks he’s fucking God, obviously, but Natasha’s always been an atheist and she’s /so/ not having it. It’d been a downright pleasure to kill that Dalek thing in front of him. The hatred and fury in his eyes was practically orgasmic. 

Look, she’s protective of her team. They risk their lives for each other as a career — it’s bound to make those warm fuzzies at some point. And Koschei…She sees a lot of herself in him. She sees a lot of him in her. Bruce was dead-on with his Hulk analogy, but Natasha never had that excuse to hide behind. Her monstrous deeds were hers and hers alone, even if she was told it was right, and even if she didn’t really have much of a choice. What’s more is she doesn’t regret it, not really. Her past is what makes her /Natasha/, made her stronger and better and, in the end, kinder. She would never have become a hero if she hadn’t first been a villain. And /that’s/ what connects her to Koschei. They both let their awful past inspire them to become “good guys.” They fight harder than almost anyone else to rise above who they were. 

And so the Doctor’s words seemed like an attack to /both/ of them. He doesn’t know how hard they’ve worked. He hasn’t seen how far they’ve come. He doesn’t understand what battles they’ve fought and mercies they’ve granted and, fuck, she’ll admit it, tears they’ve shed. All he understands is his own pompous view of heroism and “how it should be done,” as if every good act in the universe is the same, as if there aren’t more ways than one to save a life. Natasha wishes she’d said more to him. She wishes she’d held a gun to his temple and made him beg Koschei for forgiveness on his knees, blubbering and crying and staining that stupid suit. She certainly wishes she’d stepped in when they agreed to talk in private and demanded to be a third party. From the look Steve had, though, she wasn’t alone in any of this. It would’ve been just as satisfying to see him pummel that asshole into the ground. 

She wonders if they’re done talking. She really doesn’t know how long it’s been. But before she can stop, Natasha needs to get all her anger out now so it doesn’t bubble up inside her and explode later. Just /thinking/ about that whole fiasco boils her blood and she punches harder, faster, practically growling with every thud of impact. That /stupid/, inconsiderate, ungrateful, pain-in-the-ass, pretentious, weak-minded, /cruel/, pathetic excuse of a—

The hinges of the punching bag give out with a clang and the bag itself flies back a couple feet, skidding across the wooden floor before slowing to a stop, the sand from the top leaking out with a soft hushing sound. Natasha stares at it blankly, absently rolling her wrists.

Huh. Guess she’s stronger than she thought.


End file.
